


Hearts and Flowers

by Liadt



Category: Rising Damp (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post Series, offensive slang, very first time for alan, warning for 1970s British sitcom attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: If only he could get Rigsby and Alan together! But that was foolishness, then again why not? Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It might not look like it, but they had a lot in common, like they were both completely desperate. He warmed to the idea, some would say he was crazy and to drop it, but the more he thought about it the more he liked it.Philip has a plan. Will he keep his crown as the cleverest in the household?
Relationships: Rupert Rigsby/Alan Moore (Rising Damp)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Hearts and Flowers

Philip cautiously approached the front door of the boarding house. He knew he had to be swift and quiet. By taking a few deep breaths, he steadied himself and then rushed through the door, up the first flight of stairs and halted a couple of steps before the landing. One obstacle down, two to go, he thought. The first obstacle was Rigsby. Currently, the landlord was wrapped up in a cocoon of misery and misery loves company. When he was too slow going past Rigsby’s door, the landlord would pounce and talk at him about his romantic woes. Not that Philip was any safer from boring, long-winded and self-pitying whining on the top floor. Alan too would go on about his love life ad nausem. It was the same old story; Alan would think he was on to a good thing with a girl and it would all amount to nothing. This time it was a girl who it turned out didn’t want a boyfriend, she wanted someone to take her out while she waited for her real boyfriend to be released from prison. Telling him at least the boyfriend wasn’t in for GBH or murder hadn’t soothed Alan. In a spiteful mood against romantic dreams, Alan had told Rigsby Ruth’s new male friend was her boyfriend and caused his depression. The man wasn’t Ruth’s boyfriend because he was going to join a monastery, so Philip wouldn’t have to deal with a morose Rigsby forever. He didn’t know when he was becoming a monk and was unsure if he was departing sooner or later to the spiritual life. Probably later if the rest of the household’s luck rubbed off on him. Then there was Ruth … Time to move on and hope Alan was actually engrossed in his studies upstairs. 

Before Philip could dash past Ruth’s room, she came out on to the landing. 

“Oh Philip, I’m so pleased it’s you. I was trying a new dress on and the zip has stuck, I wonder if you could help me out of it?”

Philip put his hand to his mouth. “Sorry, stomach bug.” He pushed past her to the bathroom, shut the door, sat on the toilet and made loud retching noises. 

“I hope you feel better soon,” called Ruth from the other side of the door and went back into her room. 

If only I could get Ruth and Rigsby together, it would stop the two of them harassing me, thought Philip. Nevertheless, if I could I would’ve done it by now. It would make his life better all round if he could pair all three of them off successfully. However, with three hapless losers in love it would take forever. Ruth and Alan, though, that would solve two of his problems. On the other hand, Alan wasn’t interested and if he was, he was sure Rigsby would finally flip. Either he’d chuck himself off the roof or he’d find an old army pistol and no more Alan. It looked like he was lumbered until he finished his studies, got a well-paid job and could finally move out. 

If only he could get Rigsby and Alan together! But that was foolishness, then again why not? Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It might not look like it, but they had a lot in common, like they were both completely desperate. He warmed to the idea, some would say he was crazy and to drop it, but the more he thought about it the more he liked it. 

Philip prided himself on his intellect and getting the pair of them together would be a worthy test of his capabilities. Encouraging Alan to dabble in homosexuality shouldn’t be too hard, the only difficultly would it being with Rigsby. He knew Alan had a soft spot for him, even if it was only sympathy as a fellow dunce in love and they could bond over it. With Rigsby, homosexuality’s less than macho stereotypes were the problem and not Alan. Once he’d got over that hurdle, selling Alan to Rigsby should be simple. He suspected Rigsby did like Alan, but was too repressed to do anything about it and Alan wasn’t unattractive in a soft, rather than hard, masculine way. Ruth had provided a perfect distraction, but not any more and with her apparently off the market why not Alan instead? 

It wasn’t a perfect solution; Ruth would still be determined to get her claws into him, but there would be a knock on benefit of getting the two men together. If Alan and Rigsby was an item, Alan would spend most, if not all, of his time downstairs and he would have a room to himself again. He'd enjoyed having the extra space before Alan returned. First, he’d have to make a trip to the attic before going back downstairs.

* * * *

“Hullo, Philip, I’m fed up with birds, why won’t they give me a second glance?” said Alan as Philip entered their shared quarters.

“Sorry,” said Philip, swiftly interrupting him before Alan broke into a lengthy, self-pitying monologue. “I think this stomach bug hasn’t finished with me yet.” He swiped a photo off the wall, shoved it in his blazer pocket and rushed out of the room. 

“What stomach bug?” said a baffled Alan to the empty room.

* * * *

At the bottom of the stairs, Philip scrutinized the photo he’d taken. It was of him, Alan and Brenda in the pub at Christmas a couple of years ago. He folded over the third with Brenda on; he didn’t want Rigsby to be thinking of women. 

“Is that you, Phil?” called Rigsby from the other side of the wall.

“Yes, it’s me,” said Philip and went into see him.

Rigsby was sat folded over his table, with his face resting on his hands looking morose. “I’m glad you’re here. I need someone to talk to.”

“It’s Ruth, isn’t it?”

Rigsby nodded.

Philip took the chair next to him and sat down.

“I know the wedding didn't happen, and I should have given up then, but I thought as long as she stayed single we could pick up where we left off.” Rigsby sighed and was a silent for a moment. "But now ... I can’t compete with Miss Jones’s new bloke."

“That’s not true.”

“But it is. Miss Jones was my everything and now she’s lost to me I’ve run out of options.”

“That’s definitely not true.”

“I don’t know how you can sound so confident.”

“This is because I have brought you an option.” Philip drew the photo out of his pocket.

Rigsby lifted his head and reached out to take it. His expression turned to one of confusion. “I don’t get it, this is a picture of you and Alan.”

“But you do. You don’t need a woman to fulfill your needs.”

Dropping the photo, Rigsby rose sharply from his chair and took a step back in horror. “Hey, are you coming on to me? You can get that notion out of your head, beat it, mate.” 

Philip grabbed at the cuff of his shirt, which made him look even more horrified. “I’m not coming on to you.”

“Are you sure?” Rigsby was dubious and glanced back down at the photo, which had fallen the wrong side up. “Brenda? You’ve seen her around recently?” Greatly relieved, he allowed Philip to pull him back down to his seat.

“Not her, Alan.”

“Alan?” Rigsby was too busy scoffing to be appalled. 

Philip picked up the photo. “Don’t you find him attractive?”

“No, he’s a bloke,” Rigsby said, firmly. No one was making him gay. 

“You’ve frequently commented about his looks, how you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between him and a girl down a dark alley and so on.”

“I wasn’t saying it as a compliment.”

“He is pretty for a man though.”

“Yes,” admitted Rigsby without thinking and then added quickly, “It doesn’t make me a poof for noticing, mind.”

Philip avoided rolling his eyes at the comment. “Do you know psychologists today reckon we’re all a little bi?”

“Bye? Bye? Got an appointment have you? You’ve just come in here to kill time and now time’s up?”

“Not bye as in good bye, but bi as in bisexual, bats for both sides” explained Philip with a patience he didn’t feel.

“Is that so? Well, I’ll tell you one thing, psychologists didn’t reckon on me.”

Too true, thought Philip.

“I’m a red hot blooded male!”

“Which is why you wouldn’t be opposed to dating a member of the same sex.”

“How in God’s name do you work that one out?”

“As I was informing you, everyone’s bi. There would be something wrong with you if you weren’t. Don’t you see, being straight is unnatural, weird.”

“From where I’m sitting, you’re the weirdo. I suppose this is some mumbo-jumbo your tribe believes.”

Philip sighed. Rigsby was far too stubbornly attached to heterosexuality for all the good it had done him. “You agreed Alan was pretty”

“Well, yes, ok, but you caught me off guard. If I had been prepared for this line of questioning...”

“Don’t you want someone attractive in your bed? Don’t think of Alan as a bloke, focus on his feminine qualities.”

“If I did I’d have a nasty shock when I got him in bed. You can’t bamboozle me.” Rigsby folded his arms.

“No, of course not, you’re an intelligent man. Perhaps in the past there’s been feelings you’ve suppressed, I don’t know, something like when you were called up to the army and maybe there was an officer, one of the upper classes, but he treated like you weren’t of a different class and he was nice and you couldn’t help...” Philip tailed off and let Rigsby fill in the blanks. 

“How did…” started Rigsby, and quickly broke off when he realised even those two words were admitting more than he wanted to.

Aha, a lucky guess, thought Philip. Rigsby’s fondness for the upper classes was more than simple social climbing. Philip pretended he hadn’t heard him. 

“Alan likes you, he told me so.” Philip stared at him as if he was trying to seduce him, which he was in a way.

“Doesn’t mean I do,” sniffed Rigsby, feeling cross with himself over his verbal slip up. “There’s no one in this house who can compare to Miss Jones. She has looks, charm and is the most refined woman this town has seen. How could I look at anyone else, even if she is taken with her new fancy man?” He then looked around to check no one had sneaked in to listen and leaned towards Philip. “What does Alan like about me?” He was intrigued and, besides, he could do with an ego boost.

“He talks about you all the time; it’s hard to narrow it down. Everything I suppose.” 

“He doesn’t act like he’s interested in me that way.” Rigsby kept his tone one of studied indifference, yet he put one finger out and slowly pulled the photo towards him.

Philip smiled inside. “You know what he’s like: he’s shy.”

Rigsby nodded in agreement. “He’d be a lot more successful if he wasn’t.”

“You’re his ideal type.”

“Not looking at the posters on his wall I’m not.”

“What would you have said if he had pictures of half-naked men?”

“Hmm.” Philip had a point. “I can see why he would be attracted to me, the sophisticated, older-ish gentleman,” said Rigsby, puffing out his chest. 

Oh, Rigsby, you’re so easy to flatter, thought Philip.

“But it doesn’t mean I return his feelings.”

But with a push, I can stop you from being so coy, thought Philip. “Why not? It’s the seventies; you don’t have to worry about being with a man. It shows real masculinity to accept that. Alan would be perfect. He wants, needs, someone to take him in hand, to show him the ropes.”

“The only problem is that my experience in that area is lacking.”

“You aren’t without any sexual experience though, it’ll be a thrilling voyage of discovery for you both and you can do nearly all the things you can do with a woman.”

Rigsby pretended to ignore his last comment, while thinking over the possibilities at the same time. “If there’s nothing to worry about, why are there all these gay rights marches?”

“You don’t have to worry about prejudice. Ruth and I wouldn’t have a problem and if anyone else has a problem you can chuck them out.” Philip disliked bigotry: it was moving his goal of getting a room to himself out of sight. 

“That’s all very well in here, but what about what people outside would think of me turning into Tommy Two Ways?”

Philip refrained from saying people already thought he was queer in the old-fashioned sense, so what difference did it make if they added the not straight definition to their views? He wouldn’t lose any friends either as he didn’t have any. Instead of the truth he tried, “You don’t go out often so who cares about the wider world?” 

“How would you know about my social activities? We move in different circles. I move in exclusive ones away from the haunts of the hoi polloi.”

“Lords and ladies?” Philip couldn’t quite hold off making fun of him.

“As I said very exclusive.” Rigsby stuck his nose in the air.

“You’ll be fine then, everyone knows the aristocracy are as gay as they come.” Philip pointed at the photo. “Do you want to want to be sad, lonely and miserable forever?”

“I am not!”

“We live in the same house, you can’t fool me. You could be happy with Alan.”

“Glad to be gay?”

“If you like.” Then Philip delivered the killer blow, “He’d be cheaper to date than a woman. He’d be happy with a pint and a bag of crisps.” If there was anyone who would consider a relationship based on financial savings it was Rigsby. 

Rigsby mulled this over.

“If you weren’t burdened by old fashioned attitudes, what would you do?”

Something changed in Rigsby’s expression. “I suppose I should change with the permissive age, but how do I court a bloke? I can’t give him a bunch of flowers.”

“The same way you would with a woman: dress up, dim the lights, pour wine and play soft music. Shall I go and get him now?” Philip rose, eager to set things in motion.

Rigsby narrowed his eyes. “You’re moving fast, he’s not standing behind the door is he?”

“No, but why wait any longer?”

“I want to get things, er, arranged first. I should have a shave at least and see if I have any wine left in the fridge.”

“I understand perfectly. I’m ecstatic you’re not going to be moping around anymore,” said Philip disappearing through the door. He was glad of the extra time Rigsby’s preparations would give him to talk Alan round. Elated, he took the stairs two at a time up to the top floor.

* * * * 

Philip came into the room he shared with Alan and gave him a big grin.

Alan put down his textbook he’d been flicking through. “It’s nice to see someone looking happy,” he said, gloomily.

“That’s because I am.”

“I thought you had an upset stomach a moment ago.”

“I just needed to go and pick up the indigestion tablets I’d left by the front door, I’m fine now.”

“I wish my problems could be solved as easily.”

“They can.” Philip went over to Alan who was sat slumped on his bed, with a knitted blanked wrapped around him. 

“There’s no witch doctor’s spell, real or made up, that can fix my love life.”

Philip sat down next to him and put an arm round his shoulders. “You don’t need a spell.”

“Huh, so you say. It’s alright for you, the birds love you. Every time I think I’m going to make it with a girl something goes wrong. I’m cursed.”

“You just need to widen your options, that’s all and then you’ll have no trouble in having the kind of relationship you want.”

“Options to what? My options as I see it are that I might as well follow Ruth’s mate to the monastery since I get as much action as a monk.”

“Your problem is that you’ve been limited by your upbringing, there’s not just women out there for the taking.”

“But … I ...” stammered Alan, quick on the uptake.

“Don’t be afraid, Alan. When I was a teenager, I wasn’t only interested in girls. Didn’t you have a friend, a male friend, you liked more than the others at school? I did.” Philip hadn’t had any feelings for boys when he was a teenager, but he didn’t care about lying if it made Alan feel comfortable about exploring his sexuality. 

“Well, yeah, but it was teenage hormones going haywire,” Alan admitted.

“That’s what society wants you to think, but times are changing. Teenagers of the next decade won’t care if they’re going out with a man or a woman. They won’t let ideas of who they should date as an adult change them.”

“That’s alright for the future generation, but what about me? Finding a bloke to go out with’ll be harder than finding a girl. And there’s enough of those ignoring my advances,” said Alan, getting back to self-pity. 

“What if I told you I had found you the perfect boyfriend and success was guaranteed?” 

Alan turned his head slowly to look at the hand on his shoulder and then at Philip’s friendly smiling face. “You?”

“No, not me.” Philip quickly withdrew his hand. “But someone else. Have you ever thought what kind of man you’d like?”

“Er.” Alan looked at the nearest poster of a naked woman; such images were affecting his ability to conjure up an imaginary male lover.

“Older or younger?” 

“I dunno. I’m not that old myself, but...”

Philip interrupted him. “How would you feel about someone older who has some experience, but not so much as to be intimidating?”

“I guess that would be OK,” said Alan, slowly. Two minutes ago, he thought his chances at love were over and now Philip was promising him Mr Wonderful. 

“That’s fantastic. I’ll go and tell him right away.” Philip stood up. 

“Hang on, is he already here?”

“Yes, he’s Rigsby.”

“What? I didn’t catch what you said; it sounded like ‘Rigsby’.”

“That’s right.”

“But Rigsby?” Alan didn’t sound bowled over with enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong with him?” Philip opened the door as if to usher him out like he hadn’t expressed any doubt. 

“He’s Rigsby, that’s what! I was hoping for someone smart and sophisticated, like your friends are.”

Philip let the door swing shut. “You’re looking at him in the wrong way. If you looked at him as a real person and not as a caricature of a mean, miserly, slum landlord you’d feel different.”

“Why don’t you go out with him if he’s so great underneath it all,” sniffed Alan.

“It’s not me he likes,” said Philip coming back over to sit next to Alan.

Alan sat up straight and laughed. “He doesn’t fancy me, he’s not queer!”

“How do you know?” 

“The way he carried on when he thought Hilary was.”

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘He doth protest too much’? Hilary wasn’t his type.”

Alan laughed again. “Can’t say I was keen on him either.”

“It’s true! Do you fancy all the girls you meet?”

“No, but...”

“Rigsby is a romantic at heart. A man whose plays feature couples who keep trying to stab each other to death wouldn’t appeal to him and if Hilary hadn’t seemed so forward would you have run away? A man-eater is too much for you.”

“Thank you for telling me who I should go out with, have you been on the phone to my mum?” said Alan, feeling irritated about a conversation that kept hinting at his lack of experience. 

This talk wasn’t going anywhere except for Alan to close off his mind, thought Philip. “Remember Seymour?”

Alan scowled. “How could I forget?”

“Remember what Rigsby was like when he was around. If Seymour had made a pass at him...”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised to find them in bed together. Rigsby thought he was bloody wonderful.”

“There you go,” said Philip, triumphantly. 

“OK then, but I’m not his type: I’m not posh.”

“I’m not working off a hunch: he told me he was attracted to you.”

“Me? But I thought he was mad on Ruth.”

“While I was downstairs just now, he poured out his woes to me, on how his love is thwarted at every turn. Ruth has a man...”

“Except she doesn’t. Why didn’t you tell him Ruth’s bloke is going to be a monk?”

“Because he would find out the truth and kill you for lying to him.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for not telling him.”

“I told him there was plenty more fish in the sea and he said it didn’t mean they’d be interested, like Alan. I was surprised to hear your name and I questioned him further. He said he’d buried his affection for you in his pursuit of Ruth because, despite your girly hair, he thought you were one hundred percent straight,” lied Philip.

“Huh, that sounds like him, criticising my appearance.”

“No different to pulling pigtails, is it?” said Philip, with a grin. “And he is very interested in your love life.”

“I thought it was because he didn’t want me to get off with any girls under his roof because if he’s not getting his leg over no one is and, aha! He wouldn’t want anyone to get off with me if he wanted me all to himself,” said Alan coming to his own, wrong, conclusion. “So he fancies me, it doesn’t mean I have to date him.”

“No, but why not give it a try? Wouldn’t it be better to be happy together than miserable alone? The bloom of love would transform Rigsby. You’d be good for each other. He’s not that repulsive is he?” Philip mentally crossed his fingers.

“I wouldn’t know, I haven’t thought of him in that way before.”

“You’d have had an instant reaction if you found him repellent and you get along.”

“Just about.”

“Which is like the majority of couples,” said Philip and clapped him on the shoulder. 

“I suppose I’d find out sharpish if I snogged him, that’d make up anyone’s mind.”

Philip jumped up. “Great! There’s no time like the present, get down there, he’s waiting.”

Alan stood up in alarm. “That’s a bit quick!”

Philip put his arm around him and steered him to the door. “One of your problems is that once you get the chance to get close to someone you retreat into to making cocoa and playing scrabble and then wonder why you haven’t any notches on your bedpost. Rigsby told me he wanted to get ready for you.”

Instantly an image of Rigsby, with a rose between his teeth and not much else, stretched out on the sofa, flashed into Alan’s mind. “What’s wrong with taking things slowly?”

“There’ll be soft music, candles, cravat and smoking jacket, with the finest bottled ale and crisps, only the best for you. Nothing tacky, well, as far from tacky as Rigsby can manage.”

“That sounds OK,” said Alan, relieved things wouldn’t be moving as fast as his imagination, as Philip led him to the top of the stairs. “I was a big fan of Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes as a kid, I was jealous of Watson, my Mum thought I wanted to be a detective,” he confided to Philip with a nervous giggle.

“Think of Rigsby as your Rathbone, they’re not dissimilar; they’ve had the same hairstyle at some point.”

“He’s Sherlock Holmes and I’m Doctor Watson, yeah, I like that,” said Alan, pleased by the notion, when you looked it that way Rigsby was quite appealing.

* * * *

Alan hesitated by Rigsby’s door. 

“You’ll never get anywhere hanging outside doors, except to gain a criminal record for loitering.” Losing patience, Philip grabbed Alan by the shoulders, shoved him through the door and slammed it shut. He held the door handle so Alan couldn’t walk straight back out. Inside Rigsby’s living accommodation, Alan span round to do just that, but Philip’s grip was stronger than his was. He turned round. 

All was not as promised. There were no candles, no food or drink was laid on, no music played. What there was was Rigsby, unshaven, wearing his usual garb, sitting at the table, with his arms folded. He didn’t speak; his glowering expression spoke volumes. This was not a man bent on seduction. Alan began to panic, perhaps this was a ruse and he’d worked out he’d lied to him about Ruth.

“Ha-ha-hallo there, I thought this was the front door, silly me. I’ll just go out through yours, if that’s OK?” Alan made to go to the door outside, but Rigsby got up and blocked his way. 

“I’ll go back then.” Alan went back and tried the hallway door again. Philip was still holding it shut. “Philip, please,” he hissed at the door. Turning round he saw Rigsby advancing on him. “You don’t look very pleased to see me. The opposite of how Philip said you’d be.” He backed up against the door. This didn’t look good. He hoped Rigsby hadn’t been watching any of his favourite horror films recently: he didn’t want to be a copycat murder victim. 

Rigsby stopped a couple of paces in front of him. “I don’t like it when people play tricks on me when I’m in a vulnerable condition. Once Philip had gone upstairs to get you, I had a think and it occurred to me you two were playing a not particularly funny joke on me at my expense about you having crush on me.”

In one way Alan was relieved. “Joke? I’d never play a joke like that, he told me you were crazy about me and we’d make a great couple.”

“He told me you fancied me and everyone swings both ways these days, so why not give it ago?”

Realisation dawned. “Philip!” they shouted in unison. 

Outside in the entrance hall, Philip let go of the doorknob and made a swift exit out of the front door. It had been a nice idea until he’d tried to make it real, he’d lie low for a while at a girlfriend’s flat, he decided. 

“He fooled us both,” said Rigsby, with a snarl. He swung his arms back and forth like a boxer limbering up for a fight.

“I was ready to be wooed. I thought I’d at least get a packet of cheese and onion out of it.” Alan was disgruntled. 

“I haven’t any crisps. I’ve got some digestives,” offered Rigsby, picking up his Taj Mahal biscuit tin off the side. Alan was no longer the enemy, but a fellow victim of Philip’s machinations.

“Milk chocolate?” asked Alan, hopefully.

“Plain.” Rigsby put the tin down. 

“Oh.” Alan was disappointed: milk chocolate was his favourite. “If you hadn’t had a think, would you have wooed me?”

“With my biscuits? Apparently not.”

Alan tried a smile. “It wasn’t the biscuits which brought me down here.” 

Rigsby put his hands in his pockets, leaned back and put his head to one side. Alan thought he was going to say something, but he just stood there looking at him until Alan realised why. 

“You’re eyeing me up!”

“What are you protesting for? If you were ready to be seduced, what did you expect? Philip thought it would be funny to make us think we fancied each other and embarrass us when we found out it was a con. The joke would be on him if we did.”

“Yeah, he’d be the idiot then,” agreed Alan.

“Let’s find out what we’ve been missing out on, it can’t be that bad if it’s worth going on protest marches for. And it’s not as if you count as a man.”

“Oi! I am a man. What makes you think you’re so masculine, with a cat that only a crazy cat lady could love and your bingo nights? Very macho. Very butch. You’re no hit with the birds yourself either.” Alan stepped forward as he protested and then halted. “What should we do now though? Go to the pictures? I’m not watching any horror flicks with you.”

“If you don’t have a kiss and a grope, it’s just friendship,” said Rigsby, laying out his dating philosophy. “And we don’t need to go to the cinema when we can do it here.”

“Right,” gulped Alan as Rigsby closed the gap between them. “No groping though.”

“Not yet,” said Rigsby and put his hands either side of Alan’s face and pulled him into a kiss. 

It wasn’t like kissing a girl, not because of the size of Rigsby’s hands or because he hadn’t shaved for three days, but because Alan hadn’t had a kiss before that had felt so determined. Determined to work out if he liked kissing him or not, he presumed. And was he keeping his eyes shut so he could pretend he was a girl? He wasn’t having that. Alan tried to squeak out a protest. 

Rigsby opened his eyes and let him go. “No?”

From where he was, Alan could see the edge of Rigsby’s bed, he could imagine him dragging him over there, throwing him down and continuing in the same manner. “You’re too rough,” he complained. 

Rigsby gave a shake of his head and tutted, but Alan was surprised to see a caring look in his eyes. “I’ll be gentle with you then.” And he was, which made Alan feel a lot happier and made the kiss enjoyable.

“That was alright, wasn’t it?” said Alan, breathlessly, after their second attempt had ended. 

“Alright? How was it for you, dear? Alright! That’s not much of a recommendation,” said Rigsby and scowled.

“I’ve never kissed a bloke before and I didn’t know if I’d like it or not - it might have been terrible,” said Alan, oblivious to Rigsby’s scowl. 

“Neither have I.”

“Philip did say I wouldn’t want someone too experienced.”

“You’re putting me off mentioning him.”

“You liked it too?” 

“Enough to want to continue.” Rigsby smiled at Alan’s enthusiasm. “Why don’t we continue to my bed?”

“I’m not sure, can’t we slow down?” said Alan, nervously, his eyes darting about.

“Only to carry on kissing, I’ll keep one foot on the floor. It’s all very sudden for me too. Your generation have a one-track mind. Now, blokes from my generation we would never dream of jumping on a wom-er-person after two minutes to get their leg over. We treated them with respect, like a rare orchid, it was worth waiting for it to bloom instead of rushing in and squashing it flat and making everything wilt. The other reason is if you make any sudden movements on the sofa...” Rigsby put his arms out and clapped his hands together like the jaws of a crocodile snapping shut. Old or new, he didn’t have much luck with furniture. 

“Bed it is.” Alan took his hand and towed him to the bed. 

“Good, I don’t think I could spend any more time standing. I’ve got the shrapnel in my leg to consider.”

“How can I resist when you say romantic things like that?” said Alan as they perched on the bed. Rigsby lunged forward, but Alan put a hand on his chest. “You’re not kissing me again with that cardigan on.”

“What’s wrong with it? You didn’t mind a minute ago.”

Alan folded his arms, if Rigsby wanted more of him it would have to go.

Rigsby sighed. “I’ll take it off, I wouldn’t wear it on a date and everything will come off eventually.” He took the offending item off and hung it on a bedpost. He then frowned and looked around as if he had just realised where he was. “It gets harder as you get older.”

“What does?” asked Alan, concerned. 

“Taking your clothes off in front of other people.”

“You didn’t have any qualms when you showed me your bum.” Alan thought he was being daft, but glad he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

“I didn’t care if you liked what you saw then: I thought I was a gonna when that snake bit me.”

“I’m a medical student, I’m sure you won’t have anything I haven’t seen before, unless you’re concealing something you’re scared I’ll use in a medical case study to make my name.”

“Medical case study! I’ll have you know I’m a fine figure of a man.”

Alan smiled at his sudden volte-face. “I’ll be too busy worrying about how pudgy I am to rate your body anyway.”

“You’re not pudgy.”

“Why did you call me it then?”

“Did I?”

“Yes!”

“I’d forgotten, it would’ve been manly joshing, you shouldn’t have taken it to heart. You were probably annoying me at the time. You don’t feel pudgy to me.” Rigsby wound his hand around Alan’s waist. 

“I bet neither of us would have admitted body worries to a bird,” said Alan as Rigsby leaned in.

“Not very masculine,” murmured Rigsby, who wasn’t interested in talking and gave him a few fleeting kisses as a hint.

“I guess we'll have to get in touch with our feminine sides as there’s not one around.”

“I’d rather touch yours,” said Rigsby and soundly kissed Alan before he could talk any more. 

* * * *

A short while later, both of Rigsby’s feet had left the floor. They were lying on the bed in each others arms, enjoying a quiet moment. They still had their clothes on, but they had definitely moved beyond friendship. 

Alan sat up. “I guess I should be going now.” He wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Stay here for supper. I’ve got a meat pie in a tin that’ll do for two,” offered Rigsby and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Just to chat or watch the TV. It’d be nice to have company.”

“Trying to keep this a respectable household, Rigsby?” Alan paused to think over what he’d just said. “That doesn’t sound right. I can’t call you Rigsby if we’re going to carry on like this.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s my name,” said Rigsby as he did up a shirt button. 

“It’s your surname, it’s too formal. What’s your first name?”

Rigsby pulled a face. Hadn’t one of the others told him when he’d come back to live at the boarding house?

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” said Alan in response to the silence. He put his hands on either side of Rigsby's shoulders and placed his chin on one of them.

“You won’t be so amorous if I tell you.”

“If you don’t I’ll come up with a pet name for you and use it in front of everyone, including the milkman, Mister Fluffy Snuggle Bunkins.”

Rigsby twisted his head towards him and raised an eyebrow.

“OK, I won’t.”

“Cutesy animals may be involved, it’s Rupert. No bear jokes, please.”

“Is that it? I thought it’d be worse.”

“Really? Aren’t you going to tell me I don’t look like one and laugh?”

“I haven’t and I won’t. A Rupert wouldn’t wear that cardi though.”

Rigsby shifted his shoulders, shrugging off Alan, who lay back on the bed. “If I told you the world was about to end you’d be happy because the cardigan would be blown up wouldn’t you?”

“If you told me now, I’d be very depressed about the forthcoming nuclear apocalypse and its effect on fashion if I hadn’t slept with you first.” Alan found he liked nice Rigsby and he thought his comment would banish the grumpy one.

Rigsby looked down at Alan. “So you want to sleep with me, then?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?” Alan was puzzled – Rigsby was keen enough when he had his hand up his shirt, a lack of a decent pair of knockers hadn’t put him off. 

“Changed your mind about taking things slowly?”

“I wasn’t thinking about doing, you know, just this minute,” said Alan, tensing. 

“I understand. It seems my charms are entirely resistible to both men and women” Rigsby looked down at him and gave a sad smile.

“Then again, if you could tempt me with some peas to go with the pie who knows what could happen next?” Alan propped himself up on his elbow and gave him a timid smile, he wanted him to know ‘not now’ didn’t mean ‘not ever’.

“Nobody’s ever said they’ve wanted to sleep with me before.”

“Never?” Alan gave him an enquiring look. 

“It doesn’t count if they were so paralytic they would’ve got off with any man within arm’s reach.”

“What about your wife? I know you didn’t get on, but there must have been something once?”

“Despite what her father and his rifle assumed, we hadn’t even thought about doing it before he sent us down the aisle and everyone knows what you should do on your wedding night, there’s no wanting involved. She’d usually tell me she didn’t want to, no pretending to have headaches, she told me straight. When we did she had to have a fag in her mouth, said it the only way she’d get any enjoyment out of it. I was always worried she’d stub it out on me. It was a relief when she left. I bet that bloke she went with was the one who had been interfering with her. He should have been the one to marry her and get bashed on the head with a handbag.” The corners of his mouth down turned, but he shook off the memories. “But the past is the past and I’m not going to let it ruin my pies and peas.”

“Agreed,” said Alan and went to smooth Rigsby’s ruffled hair down. They were both due a bit of joy, he thought. 

* * * * 

In the attic room, Alan was brushing his teeth at the sink. If he could whistle, he’d whistle ‘Tonight’s the Night’, but instead he dedicated himself to removing plaque. He’d spent the last three nights downstairs with Rigsby and not much had happened, tonight, however, he was staying over and it was going to be the night of no pyjamas. 

Alan had concluded the longer he waited the more nervous he got. If he’d been in the same situation when he was eighteen he would have done it with Rigsby before he’d got the Fray Bentos pie out. He didn’t want to die a virgin, especially not one who’d had the opportunity and chickened out. When he’d popped in at breakfast, he hadn’t told Rigsby that only he wanted to move things along. Alan wished he’d been more spontaneous the night before, as Rigsby had declared that his first time should be special and had started fussing over minor details to make it perfect. He was a romantic at heart, as long it didn’t affect his wallet, so it was to be a romantic meal at home and not at a fancy restaurant. Alan had vetoed candles to set the mood, knowing his luck they’d set something alight, then he’d be a homeless virgin and the reason he had returned to the boarding house was because his fancy, new lodgings had been flooded. He didn’t want to tempt fate again. 

To be honest, he’d settle for the experience to not be completely terrible and finally get intimate with someone. He’d tell Rigsby that if it wouldn’t sound bad out loud. It would take some of the stress off him too because Alan suspected he’d started fussing to distract himself from his role as the one who’d done this before, except in a way he hadn’t, and now he’d told Alan it was going to be perfect, the daft idiot. He had told Alan any gaps in his first hand knowledge were filled by stories told by the older men he was in the army with. Apparently, they were very graphic on all the things they’d done, which were too dirty to do with their respectable wives. This didn’t fill Alan with confidence, since he got the distinct impression some of these nights of passion didn’t turn out well. Before he could muse some more, he heard the door open. He quickly rinsed his mouth out and turned to see who it was. It was Philip. 

“Evening, returned at last then? Did the force of me and Rigsby’s combined shout blast you to the other side of town and it’s taken you this long to walk back?” Alan spoke coldly as he didn’t want him to know about him and Rigsby yet.

“Hello, Alan. I went to stay with a girl and things developed.” 

“Humph.” Typical. If it were me, I’d have spent the nights kipping on a park bench in the rain, while he’s been sheltering with a gorgeous bird, thought Alan.

“I’m sorry if you thought I was trying to make a fool of you, but you were both miserable and I thought you could cheer each other up,” said Philip, unusually sheepish. “And, if you recall, you had written Ruth out of the picture for Rigsby.”

“So your little scheme was my entire fault!” So much for sorry.

“No, no, I didn’t say that.”

“In one sense I can’t blame you. You’ve been making remarks about those who go on and on about their dating woes and not to fall into the trap of self-pity because there’s nothing more unattractive than that and who else could you be talking about but Rigsby? His moaning must have made you go a bit nutty.”

“Yes, it’s well known the environment you live in can affect your mental health.” Philip smiled at him feeling forgiven. “I tell you what, I’ll tell Rigsby Ruth has driven Mr Right to the monastery and I’ll set you up with my lady-friend’s friend.”

Alan thought this over. Philip did know many good-looking birds, but none of the ones he had previously set him up with had worked out and he’d a guaranteed night of sexual shenanigans with Rigsby. It wasn’t just a case of convenience though, he felt all fluttery and excited when he thought about being with him later. He supposed he’d had feelings for Rigsby all along, but he’d just gone along with how he was meant to act and chased girls, it was the easiest path, although it hadn’t turned out easy for him. Annoyingly, Philip had been right.

“You don’t need to do that and do you know why?” said Alan. “I know you and it seemed like a wind up until I remembered how clever you are. What would you stand to gain if you got us together? A room all to yourself, that’s what. I’d hardly be spending all my time up here with you playing gooseberry. Well, you have your wish and I don’t know whether to be angry at you or thank you. What you can do is take the flak if Rigsby ever finds out about the trainee monk never being Ruth’s bloke. I don’t want to find out if it’s a dumpable offence.”

“What, it all worked out? I’m so happy for you both." Philip came up to him, beaming.

“Don’t go chucking my bed out just yet, it still might not work out. I hope not though.”

“It wasn’t my aim to get the room, although, I admit the thought had crossed my mind.”

“In that case, I forgive you and you’ll have the room to yourself tonight.”

“Shall I stay up here and carve notches on your bedpost for you?” teased Philip.

“Maybe,” mumbled Alan, looking down.

Philip clapped him on the back. “I am happy for you, sincerely.”

“Look, I’ve told you I’ve forgiven you, will you stop saying how happy for me you are?” said Alan, still a little embarrassed by Philip.

* * * *

Alan walked into Rigsby’s room. This was how Alan had imagined things would have been earlier in the week. There was a red scarf wrapped around the ceiling light, in an attempt to give the room a romantic atmosphere, fresh flowers in a vase on the table and soft music played, which wasn’t to Alan’s taste, but at least it was on low. Rigsby was at the oven wearing a flowery apron, but under it he was dressed smartly in a smoking jacket and a silk cravat. 

“I’ve brought you a gift,” said Alan, with one hand behind his back.

Rigsby looked over his shoulder at him; he was busy frying a couple of gammon steaks in a pan. “Box of chocolates?”

Alan brought his hand round to reveal a packet of milk chocolate digestives. 

“Aha, thanks, put them in the tin for later. Although, I have made a trifle for dessert.” Rigsby sounded quite pleased about it.

“Trifle? We’ll be too stuffed to do anything other than doze off. You’ve not done a starter too?”

Rigsby shook his head.

“I’m beginning to think by the time we’ve eaten all this I’ll have lost my nerve. I wouldn’t want to be a disappointment,” said Alan, pondering on his earlier thoughts.

Rigsby waved away his words with a fish slice. “The last time I got off with anyone was on New Year’s Eve 1965 with Gladys Addison. I would have forgotten the encounter if we hadn’t toppled over onto the bins. There’s nothing like landing in a pile of rotting leftovers to sober you up. You could never be a disappointment to me; you’ve strong competition to beat. She emigrated not long after, I hope I wasn’t the last straw and _you’re_ worried about being a let down.”

“We’re not characters in a romance novel; it doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to avoid disaster, I’ve remember some more barracks talk,” he said over his shoulder and then checked the gas wasn’t on too high. 

“Right, good,” said Alan. He didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t like receiving advice from the authors of the ‘Karma Sutra’ was it? What else could he say? It was nice Rigsby had made an effort for him. “You’re looking attractive.”

Rigsby turned back to him, all the better to show off his apron. “Have a flowery apron kink?”

Alan laughed. “No, I mean underneath it.”

Rigsby puffed out with the flattery. “It’s hard to resist someone looking this debonair.”

Alan nodded his agreement. “What about me?”

“Fishing for compliments? Shouldn’t be hard, you’re very handsome, I’ve always thought so,” Rigsby said looking away, shyly, and turned to prod the steaks to hide the vulnerability he felt by revealing his feelings.

A wave of warm and soppy feelings washed over Alan. For once, he knew what to do. He went up to Rigsby, put his arms around his waist, and nuzzled his neck.

“That’s nice, but I’m trying to cook.” Rigsby patted Alan behind him with his spare hand.

“It doesn’t need your full attention.” Alan pulled him round to face him at the side of the oven and set to work on caressing his neck with his lips. 

“Stop it, it’ll burn if you don’t,” said Rigsby, letting out a low moan. He was enjoying what Alan was doing despite his words.

“I know what I want to eat.” Alan pulled him tighter against his body to grind against him and gently bit his ear. 

Rigsby let out a whimper.

“There’s only one thing I need to make this perfect.”

“What’s that?” Rigsby trembled, but it wasn’t from fear.

“You,” said Alan and kissed him on the mouth. Rigsby flailed a hand to turn the gas off, then put it against Alan’s chest and pushed him back, but not off him. The bed was behind him Alan knew and Rigsby had a look of desire in his eyes. Alan smirked and held on to the apron to pull him along, until the back of his legs hit the bed. Any nervous doubts had left Alan and been replaced by the heady excitement of anticipation, which flowed through his mind and body. The only coherent thought that ran through his mind was that they were both wearing too many clothes and he had a tremendous need for them to go. 

“Off,” growled Alan. He clutched at the side of Rigsby’s trousers and gave the material a sharp downward tug.

Rigsby obliged. 

“Everything,” ordered Alan and pulled his best jumper over his head. It wasn’t necessary to remove everything and his need was such he didn’t want to pause to do so, but he wanted to feel Rigsby’s skin against his, unencumbered by layer of clothes. "And be quick." 

Clothes off, Rigsby grinned, shoved him on to the bed and kissed him with a similar determination to the first time he’d kissed Alan. This time, Alan welcomed the intensity, which matched his own. 

* * * *

The next morning, Alan woke with Rigsby’s arm laid across his chest. Alan didn’t want to get up, he wanted to stay in bed, warm and nicely drowsy with his lover. It felt odd to think of him as his lover, not because he was Rigsby because he wasn’t Rigsby anymore, he was amazing and wonderful and everything he could want. No, the reason why it felt strange to think of him as his lover was because he hadn’t been able to truthfully think of anyone in that way before. He’d finally been intimate with someone, in the way it counted, as a medical student he’d had intimate moments before, but there had been a doctor behind him with a clipboard. If there had been an assessor last night he was sure he would have passed. 

Would his fellow students be able to tell there was something different about him? Probably not. He could join in the racy chat down the students’ favourite bar without feeling a fraud now. When one of the students said they’d done it with a cracking bird last night he could say he’d done it with a cracking bloke, but if he did he doubted he’d be getting congratulatory back slaps. He thought he’d give a drink in the pub a miss after his course today. 

Alan carefully slid out of bed trying not to disturb Rigsby. Regardless, he stirred and turned over. 

“Alan?” he said muzzily, eyes heavy with sleep.

“I’ve got to go to hospital, it’s for a course,” said Alan as he pulled on his pants and then retrieved his jeans.

Rigsby stared at him as he dressed. “Those jeans are too tight.”

“They come off easily enough. You don’t have a reply to that or are you transfixed by the way they hug my arse?”

“I’m not straight anymore.”

“How do you feel about it?” Alan sat down on the bed to put his socks on. 

“Annoyed you can’t stay in bed with me for the rest of the day.”

Alan grinned and leaned forward to kiss Rigsby on the cheek. “I’ll be back tonight.” Why go to the pub and talk of doing things when you could be actually doing them?

“Good, you can help me fix the sofa,” said Rigsby, with a yawn. 

Doing things like D.I.Y, thought Alan.

“It won’t take all night."

“Then will the sofa need testing to make sure it’s safe?” asked Alan, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

“Thoroughly,” said Rigsby and grinned at him. 

THE END


End file.
